Honor Bound formerly as of yet, Untitled
by ethanhaas
Summary: After the death of Haruhi's fiancee, Kyoya steps up to the plate and makes the biggest business deal of his life when he marries her. They raise a blonde daughter and take baby steps towards something wonderful.
1. Chapter 1

Title

By: EthanHaas

He rubbed his eyes, setting his glasses down on the desk in front of him. Thankful that the door to his office was closed, he leaned back in a handsome leather chair and allowed himself an uncharacteristic moment of tiredness. The sun streaming in through the high windows behind him illuminated a large mahogany desk, littered with files, papers, manila envelopes, and half-finished, long-since-cold coffee cups. He hated this office and everything about it, save for the fact that it was he who sat in that chair five days a week. Rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat, he sighed quietly.

Spring had changed imperceptibly into summer and he knew that just outside his window, the setting sun was casting golden rays on the end of a warm, sultry day. His eyes still closed, he could picture the scene outside so many stories below, full of families out to enjoy a night downtown. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the computer screen, the air conditioning making him jump a little as though he had actually been outside. Realizing after a few moments that he wasn't absorbing a thing, he sighed again and gave it up as a bad job. He closed his eyes again as the image of the street below, thronging with people, reentered his mind. He could see them sitting down to dinner on the breezy patios of restaurants, see them escaping the heat in movie theaters, parents being dragged around by small, giddy children. Then, from the back of his mind, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome, a face entered his thoughts. His face broke into what was unmistakably a smile (albeit maybe half of one) and he leaned forward to pick up the only picture frame on his desk, containing a photo of the living counterpart of his mind's wanderings. The little girl in the picture was no older than two, frozen in time in a rare moment in which she wasn't squirming in her mother's arms. She was smiling a smile that secured short time outs and extra stories at bedtime, a smile she had since perfected and Kyoya often told her to get trademarked. There was chocolate ice cream smeared down a once-pristine white sundress and her mother wore an expression of amused exasperation, something she did often.

Kyoya leaned back in his chair once more, seemingly unaware that a terrified and harassed looking intern had just opened his door cautiously. Surprised that the usually perceptive and astute man before her seemed oblivious to her presence, she stood frozen and wondered what exactly she had walked in on. Was that…wistfulness? Fondness that she saw on his face? Before this moment, she would have bet half her salary that Kyoya Otori was incapable of such emotions. At an office party, she had once (under the influence of four glasses of wine, the fifth having found its way onto her dress instead) told a colleague that her boss had the emotional range of a tea kettle.

"What is it, Yuki?"

She jumped and nearly dropped the stacks of books and case studies in her arms. He was still looking at the picture frame but his tone was brisk, business-like, almost bored.

"Haruhi called, sir. She asked you to s-stop on your way home t-tonight and get band-aids." The girl looked absolutely petrified, as though fearing her boss might suddenly breathe fire.

Setting the frame down, Kyoya put his glasses back on and resumed his ceaseless typing. If the girl's request had seemed strange to him, he didn't show it. "What kind?" he asked, his silver frames glinting in the sun.

"Something pink is all she said." She waited breathlessly for a moment and then bowed herself out of the room, looking positively thrilled to be gone.

Kyoya began to shut down his computer and gather his briefcase to leave. Before he stood, he took one last look at the picture, taken the year before. Haruhi's hair was longer then and so was the little girl's, though she still wore her hair almost to her waist. It was the only thing about her that set her apart from her mother, of whom she was a perfect, tiny replica. _They look tremendously alike,_ he thought with a rueful smile He laughed as he stood to leave, taking one last glance at the photograph as the afternoon sun glinted off of the little girl's sheet of long, blonde hair.

"It's just a few more steps, you can do it," she said softly. She turned back and looked at Kyoya helplessly, trying not to laugh. They both watched from the top of the stairs as the youngest Otori made a dramatic production of walking up the stairs, dragging her feet and stomping. It was ruined somewhat by a huge yawn and the teddy bear that skimmed the carpet as she dragged it in one hand.

"But it's so f-f-far," she mumbled, failing to stifle another yawn.

"And you refused to let your mother carry you," Kyoya said quietly, pushing up his glasses as he poked a hole in the little girl's argument.

She reached the top stair and he half expected her to fling herself down on the floor. _There's no denying she learned to act from her father,_ he thought. The little girl raised her arms up to him, her award-winning smile unable to mask the fact that she was either about to pass out where she stood or dissolve into tears of naps not taken.

He bent down and scooped her into his arms, tossing her easily over his shoulder. "No, daddy!" She squealed, her pigtails flying everywhere. Kyoya made to walk towards her bedroom but stopped when she tugged on his collar. "I have to say good night to Mommy!" He turned and let the girl throw her arms around her mother's neck and plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"You. Bed." Haruhi's voice was soft and kind but contained just the hint of a threat that said she'd clearly tolerate no tomfoolery before bed or they'd both be facing the wrath of a tired woman who wasn't above shin kicks and boycotting Disney movies (according to the weakness of each member of her household). Kyoya carried the little girl to her room and set her down on the bed, helping her with the covers and tucking her in as he'd done hundreds of times before. She settled her bear beside her as Kyouya took the ponytails out of her hair, inwardly wincing at the filthy toy as he did every night. Thinking this would be the night he stole it and washed it (or better, burned it), he was lost in the details of that stealth mission when he realized she was staring at him with eyes that were heavy with sleep and only half open.

"I fell down today," she said quietly. He knew she'd been holding in this most important story for bedtime but had obviously not anticipated being so sleepy when she told it. She held up her arm and showed him her elbow, which now held no less than 6 Hello Kitty band-aids, none of which were covering anything remotely close to a scratch, let alone bloodshed.

Settling himself cross legged on the floor, he rested his cheek in his hand on the edge of her bed. "Did you fall or did you get pushed?"

"I fell at the park. Ryouta laughed," she answered, at this point too sleepy to summon any tears to do her thrilling story any justice. Kyouya vowed silently to buy out and destroy Hitachiin Enterprises. And then to set a pack of wolves on Hikaru and his son. She held out her arm more insistently, never too tired to start pouting. "Make it better?" It was as much a plea as it was a command. _Oh, she's good,_ he thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. _Just like her mother_.

He smiled and took her small arm in his hand and kissed her elbow. "Does that feel any better?"

"Yes," she grinned toothily up at him. She hugged him, linking her arms around his neck and then burrowed down under her covers.

"Good night." He stood and turned to leave the room, pausing at the light switch.

"I love you, daddy."

"I love you too, Saeka," he said softly, turning off the lights and shutting the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Haruhi still stood in the hallway, looking dead on her feet. His searching eyes asked the question before his mouth could form the words and she answered, "Melon soda," with a laugh. He knew better than to ask more, knowing enough about Saeka to know that denying her such a thing was a brave mistake indeed.

She slipped a small, warm hand in his and he leaned comfortably back against the wall, pulling her to him. He wondered if other couples wasted time exchanging pleasantries, prattling on about their days at work and at home, about the neighbors and politics and weather. Kyoya had never been that patient; a textbook Otori. Her tired eyes sparkled as he placed his hands on her waist, claiming her mouth with his own.

It hadn't always been this easy.

It had been a marriage of convenience. He had been out of college and working for his father for 3 years when he received the call. He hadn't kept in touch with Haruhi but sparingly since his graduation _(though you had no trouble keeping in touch with the rest of your friends_, his conscience nagged) but he knew exactly whose voice he was hearing the moment he answered. She had told him that a piece of paper was too formal, too impersonal. She wanted to personally invite him to her wedding.

The elegant stem wine glass full of ice water in his hand snapped upon hearing her words. If she heard the shatter of delicate crystal, she said nothing. He had been sitting at a swanky café where he usually sat and made small talk with other important businessmen as they came in for lunch. Shooing away the waiters that tried to help him clean it up, he sat and listened in a stunned silence, for once forgoing the effort of maintaining a dignified, blank face.

Although normally not one to babble, Haruhi had begun to tell him how he proposed. Where he did it (in Paris) when he did it (on a gorgeous spring day as the sun set) and the plans for the wedding itself. She told him about the church where it was being held ("Truth be told, I'd rather just do it here with my friends and dad and let it be done,") and how the reception was going to be huge and full of important people and she'd probably throw herself off the steeple from boredom. He laughed dryly, his throat sticking at the foreign noise escaping his mouth. Even if she was rambling and excited sounding, a rarity for her, her blatant nature was ever the same. She told him she had called him first and then would call the rest of the members of the Host Club. She said his invitation was in the mail, personally designed by Kaoru and Hikaru's mother who was sworn to secrecy from her boys (a task she enjoyed and carried out with relish).

Her voice betrayed a slight annoyance – or perhaps hurt – that Kyoya had remained close with everyone in the club except her. "But," she said, her voice smoothly transitioning back to normal, "sometimes mothers and daughters grow apart."

They met for dinner in February before the wedding in June. She had wanted to catch up and he, having found no way to dodge it with a polite lie as Haruhi had checked with his secretary first, agreed. He made a mental note to fire his secretary and assure that she'd never work in the northern hemisphere again. She chose a tacky little sushi restaurant and he held his tongue, having promised her no commoner jokes until she was married. Otoris didn't break their word but the plastic bamboo he was sitting on was trying his patience. He fought the urge to throttle the waiter when his tea was served in a plastic monkey's head.

After dinner, they decided to go for a walk in the unseasonably warm, almost humid air and had ended up in a park. Though the dusk was thick with the promise of rain, it was pleasant enough and Haruhi was eyeing the clouds above with minimal apprehension. "Even his mother is going to be there," she said quietly. She toyed listlessly with the buttons of her sweater, sighing a little. "If his grandmother says anything, I don't know what-"

Her phone cut her off. She answered it, smiling as she mouthed an apology to Kyoya. He watched her, hands in the pockets of his impeccable charcoal suit. Her hair was to her shoulders now and it suited her. _Everything does,_ he thought. Her face, previously a rose-tinted porcelain, seemed to drain of color as he watched. Her mouth was slightly agape and she seemed entirely oblivious to the impending storm. A cold breeze picked up and he cast a glance at the sky, frowning slightly.

"Haruhi," he said quietly. "I think it's going to r-"

Thunder rumbled overhead as the moon was obscured by thick, ominous clouds. He watched her face and she showed no reaction, no sign of even being aware that she was standing in the company of a man who didn't particularly want to climb into his Mercedes soaking wet.

She closed her phone and put it back in her purse, her face blank (though now a delicate shade of green). The rain came down slowly at first, and then gathered speed and force until sheets were driving down around them. He called his driver and put a hand on her arm, trying to steer her to the street where the black sedan would momentarily appear.

At the touch of his fingers on her arm, she looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. Another clap of thunder to shake the heavens succeeded lightning as it forked across the sky. She clutched her stomach, still wide-eyed. Was she going to be sick? "Haruhi, you'll catch something! Let's go!" He half-yelled over the din of the rain and the thunder. He gave her arm another tug, starting to shiver as his clothes soaked through to his skin.

She turned to look at him, her eyes blank. He'd never seen her so calm (or perhaps vacant) in a storm nor had he seen her ignore thunder like this. She spoke in a small voice, like that of a child, and looked vaguely as though she were a drowned person as he gave up trying to move her to the waiting car.

"Senpai," she breathed. There it was, the renewed use of formalities. He had barely allowed himself to enjoy being just Kyoya for the evening. She spoke in a flat tone sounding as though she were merely repeating what she'd just heard: rehearsed, level, lifeless. Her expression was the ghost of her normal self, her voice just a smoky wisp of the radiance it had exuded before. Another bolt of lightning reflected in her enormous eyes as she tried to speak. He leaned in close, afraid that the smoke would dissipate before he could hear it.

"There's been an accident."

The circumstances that followed were by far the most surreal thing Kyoya had ever experienced. He had carried Haruhi to his car and they went to the hospital where she met her future father-in-law. Feeling rather unsure of what to do with himself, he had called the entirety of the Host Club. And, as Mori walked through the door to complete the set, Kyoya had slipped out quietly.

A week later, the rain still hadn't let up. A mass of black umbrellas sheltered an even bigger mass of black-clad mourners, all shivering in the biting wind and wincing as Pradas and Blahniks were flecked with mud. Haruhi stood at the front by the preacher who was drowned out by the rain entirely. A frail-looking blonde woman clutching a handkerchief stood next to Haruhi. Their faces were mirrors of one another, looking similarly drowned though still quite dry.

Each Host Club member and both of his parents stepped forward to lay a white rose on the casket before it was lowered. Haruhi's was red. Honey burst into to tears, muffling them into Mori's jacket as they watched the casket descend. Kyoya watched her twist her engagement ring around on her finger, her arms crossed against herself protectively. He had been thinking of something to say, anything to say, disturbed at his continuing helplessness and inability to articulate a single phrase, however impersonal it might be. Indeed the only things he could think to say to her sounded oddly detached. Sterile.

A hand touched his shoulder and he felt rather than saw his eldest brother join him under his umbrella. Masahiro indicated him to follow, gesturing to a waiting limousine. He climbed in and upon seeing the passengers, felt that nothing could have surprised him less. He met his father, Akito, and Fuyumi inside, clearly waiting for him. His father spoke as though the man they had just watched descend to a watery grave was perhaps a great uncle, perhaps a stranger. Certainly not a best friend.

"Kyoya, I once said that Fujioka Haruhi would make a suitable bride for you."

Fuyumi stifled a sob, rocking backward and forward slowly. Kyoya maintained an expression of polite interest as though his father was remarking about the

miserable weather and said nothing.

"The Suou family is of impeccable breeding and of incredible financial importance and power. It wouldn't be…prudent to bring this up in the near future but she is expecting a child and it would be bad for everyone involved if the former bride of the heir to the Suou throne bore a child alone, out of wedlock."

Kyoya nodded vaguely, more of an involuntary jerk than anything else. He was listening but his father's voice was washing over him like the rain outside – just steady, cold, white noise. Masahiro and Akito surveyed Kyoya, watching their little brother for weakness or objection. Fuyumi watched him through bleary, wet eyes full of something that looked an awful lot like pity.

"Before March is over, you will ask her to marry you and she will agree. This favor to the Suou family will create a great, ah, debt - for want of a better word. It will forge a lasting bond between our families."

Below the layers of numbness, Kyoya felt a ripple of understanding. He had waited his entire life for his chance to jump at the throne, to outshine his brothers and become the successor to the Otori dynasty. He had plotted carefully, always planning and always a step ahead. He had perfect grades, was more astute and persuasive than his brothers, and read people like the Sunday paper. He was always just behind the finish line, waiting for something to vault him across, something to help him break free of the frame to which he was confined. He had envisioned his chance to come in the form of a business deal, of persuading some company to sell, of finding a way to dominate a new market. He knew he'd marry into another wealthy, powerful family and have a son and begin the cycle anew. But instead, here was his golden ring to grab. His golden ring, however, used to dress like a boy and was carrying his best friend's child.

In a small church in Kuruizawa, Haruhi got her wish. She was married in a quiet ceremony in a white dress that had to be let out a little around the middle. Only her close friends and family attended. She wore her old ring on a long chain around her neck, tucked carefully into her dress; the new one ostentatiously perched on her left hand, a physical (and incredibly unnecessary) reminder that weighed her hand down. She smiled in pictures and posed willingly with Kyoya, biting back the urge to scream all day. Her hair was curled and set, her make up immaculate. Kyoya was a knight in shining armor, never having failed more miserably in his life at looking cool and composed. He laughed easily and smiled wide. Haruhi held a glass of champagne at all times, dumping it onto the ground periodically to get a new one. Appearances must be maintained.

"She'll make an excellent Otori," Kyoya's father said, raising his glass to the unlikely couple.


	3. Chapter 3

The honeymoon was brief and spent in a villa on a private beach in Fiji. The newlyweds slept in separate beds and Haruhi threw up everything she ate. In September of that year, Saeka Otori was born. Anyone who could do math knew that the child was technically illegitimate. Anyone with eyes knew for a fact that she was. But it was a mark of respect to her late father's memory and a mark of deep fear of the Otori family that no one said a word.

Kyoya met, for the first time in his life, someone he couldn't read. He couldn't anticipate needs and reactions, couldn't have everything down to a science, running like clockwork. He'd think he found a pattern with her sleeping or feeding and the next day, he would be bleary eyed and half asleep at work as Saeka had stayed up til 5 am, screaming to wake up all of Tokyo. There was no shrewd calculation to a child, let alone a petulant infant. Born with her father's lungs and a head of blonde hair, Kyoya had never been more terrified of a seven pound, nine ounce object in his life.

He meant to keep his distance. It had been his intention from the day of the funeral on. An outsider would have said he was distant from the child as she wasn't his own and he resented her for it. Haruhi knew that Kyoya was vaguely annoyed but mostly scared. _But,_ as he thought, _Haruhi isn't stupid enough to suffer in silence. If she needs help, she'll ask._ He spent hours in his study, basking in the soothing glow of his computer screen as he drew up charts and researched exactly how deeply ensconced the Otoris and Suous were – he was beginning to think his father had gone senile. Marrying Haruhi didn't seem to raise profits.

His sister had stepped in the night Saeka was born, calling him to try to explain his father's logic in the way only an overly emotional older sister who says things like "strong little soldier" could. He had long since re-perfected his cool, collected demeanor but felt his temper flaring at the words "little brother." She had rambled on for nearly an hour, during which Kyoya had been fantastically productive at listening to anything but her, thinking up ways to improve the hospital his family owned as he paced.

"He says that public opinion is on the line here, too," she had tried in a last stab at making her baby brother understand, as though he were denying that two and two made four. She sounded close to tears and Kyoya vaguely wondered if, as all the women around him sounded that way lately, it could be his mere presence that caused it. "It won't matter as much to our friends and business associates but you must understand that the general public will see you as a brave, stoic man! You're stepping up and taking…taking one for the team," she breathed, realizing from Kyoya's absolute silence that she was toeing a very fine line. "The public will mostly side with us and be impressed that you were just so righteous and wonderful for saving Haruhi from a horrible fate! You must have such a big heart to take a tragedy and-"

"The doctor said that it will only be a few more hours," he cut her off in a crisp, decisive voice; the conversation was over. "If you'd like to join us, you're more than welcome," he added in a voice that told her quite clearly she wasn't.

In that instant, she was struck at how much he sounded like their father. Kyoya ended the call and left to fetch Haruhi's nineteenth cup of ice chips.

Haruhi spent the time between the funeral and her wedding fighting the urge to curl up in a ball and hide under a table. She hadn't cried when her mother died and didn't see any reason to start now. She felt rather that the persistent storm outside were within her instead of without. Her old friends said comforting words, brought her flowers and photo albums and wedding gifts. It took some organizing but they all brought her the first gifts they'd bought (and Kyoya was conveniently absent when she received them), having chosen entirely different ones for the wedding that happened in April.

She laughed truly and genuinely for the first time in ages when she finally opened the gift from the twins that August. Kyoya had had the audacity to eat eggs earlier that morning and after a quick and routine puking session, a very annoyed and very pregnant Haruhi had taken vaguely malicious pleasure in her plans to open more secret wedding gifts.

She tottered down many halls and corridors of the Otori estate to the guest room where she had hidden the gifts. Inside was a delicate, lacy blue garter. She flipped open the card and couldn't help but smile at what she found. _We nicked it from mother's store. So it's new, it's borrowed, and it's blue. In fact, it won't even be in stores for a year. For something old, we figured a fossil like Kyoya would qualify as he's best man. All our best, _followed by two loopy, cursive signatures and an open invitation to come steal anything else from the store that she wanted.

She smiled ruefully, waddling over to the guest bed and laying down on it on her back. Kyoya had been nothing shy of wonderful to her these last few months. No matter how moody, how easily nauseated, how impatient she became, he was there to bring her what she wanted, make someone get her what she wanted, or give shoulder rubs and shoulders to cry on. Or, rather, shoulders to lean on as Haruhi didn't put much stock in crying. She closed her eyes, twisting the garter in her fingers as a scene from a few weeks past flitted across her mind.

"I would sell my soul to be able to lay on my stomach," she sighed.

"You can't sell your soul, one of us needs one." He didn't look up from his newspaper, but she knew all too well that he took a sip of coffee to disguise the hint of a smile threatening to betray him. She chose instead to glare at him, wondering why he insisted on a cup of decaf before bed. If the smell didn't make her vomit on thousand thread count sheets, it sent her in to a fit of rage as coffee was a contraband item for another month or so yet. Good coffee, at least.

"I hate you," she mumbled as she punched the pillows into a comfortable shape, trying to lie on her side and immediately regretting the choice. She huffed loudly, feeling the pinpricks in the corners of her eyes that meant she was in for a long night. _Only I would cry over something so stupid, _she thought savagely. _Not my mother or my dead fiancée. I only deign to cry because expensive pillows don't do as I wish._

She felt a strong pair of hands on her shoulders, slowly massaging away the tension. To her horror, the urge to cry intensified. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears away. He eased the pain out of her shoulders and then her lower back, his hands moving in slow circles. They said nothing as sleep overtook her, rare and peaceful sleep, not fitful sleep that was interrupted by muscle spasms fourteen times a night. He eased her into a laying position and pulled the sheets up around her.

"Tomorrow, I will call every furniture manufacturer in Japan," he said softly, gazing at her half asleep face, looking restful and content for the first time in weeks. "I will award millions to the first one that can make a bed that you can sleep on." She smiled drowsily, placing her hand over his.

"You'll do no such thing," she murmured. "Go to sleep."

He sighed and removed his glasses, setting them on the table to his left as he hit a button on a remote on the nightstand. The lights went out and he joined her under the blankets. He lay awake on his side, facing her. _I could go to the beach tomorrow, _he thought._ I could dig her a hole and she could lie on her stomach. I'll call the doctor in the morning and make sure it's okay, _he thought with a yawn.

In the darkness under the covers, her hand found his once more and they slept that way all night, fingers intertwined.

The memory faded and she smiled to herself, absently twisting the ring on her left hand. She felt leaden and couldn't find the energy to swing her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. She'd definitely need a hand up, something she had taken a while to get used to but now it felt as though it was second nature to be completely dependent on someone else. She began to hum to herself and dug her phone out of the pocket of her dress, hitting the blank number one on her speed dial. The little number '1' had been rubbed off months earlier and the sight amused Kyoya to this day. She had a vague idea of where she was in the house (and "vague idea" usually means "I've managed to find it at least twice") but called him anyway, asking him to come. It was a familiar ritual, something she did often. "Find me?" she asked quietly.

He would find her soon. He always did.


	4. Chapter 4 with author's notes

Still Untitled

part four

by: EthanHaas

The following Saturday found the third Otori son and his wife with starbucks cups in hand as they sat on a shady bench at a local park. Kyoya had spent the better part of the morning harassing his wife as she refused to wake up when he did at his customary 5:30.

"The boy is a wild animal." His voice was level but couldn't quite conceal a bite of impatience. He sat on the edge of their bed, giving up in his attempt at making it with her in it after nearly suffering a blow to the head with a carefully aimed pillow.

"I'm asleep." _Whatever happened to the Kyoya that melted diamonds with his eyes if you woke him up too early?_ Haruhi groaned and rolled over, jamming a pillow over her face.

"He is just like his father." His palm pilot, laptop, stack of notebooks, and blackberry were all scattered unceremoniously about his desk. Had Haruhi been doing anything other than try valiantly for another forty minutes of sleep, she might have been worried by her husband's idle hands.

"Hark who's talking. Do you want to be the pot or the kettle today?"

"I thought you were asleep?" He willed the irritability out of his voice.

"I am." Another pillow found its way into the air and missed his head by inches. _When did she get such good aim? _

"He pushed her down."

"She fell." Haruhi sighed. Loudly.

"When I kill him, you're helping me cover it up. Think of the time and effort we could save right here, right now."

"Die." This time the pillow did make contact with its intended target. Exhaling slowly, he felt around for his glasses on the bed.

He lay down beside her and under the pretense of brushing some stray locks of hair off her forehead, double-checked that she wasn't harboring any more pillow-missiles. Forcing his voice into a pleasant purr, he spoke quietly into her ear. "Did I mention we're completely out of coffee?"

"Die twice."

- -

As he maneuvered the Mercedes into a parking space, he glanced in his rearview mirror at the little boy in his backseat and made eye contact with a pair of all too familiar hazel eyes. Though he had inherited brown hair from his mother, his likeness to his father was unnerving. Or, rather, it unnerved Kyoya. He was rather pleased with himself for refraining from calling the little boy's father "an unruly doppelganger." In front of him, at least.

Despite his best efforts, the flowery, extravagant insults that his late friend had dreamed up hadn't died with him.

Kyoya realized his wife was smiling at him as he cut the engine. Despite the summer morning outside that greeted them as car doors opened and the hot coffee still in his hand, (not to mention a warm daze that always seemed to persist in the wake of her smile) he couldn't help but shiver a little he watched Haruhi take Ryouta and Saeka's hands and lead them toward the park.

_It's warm. I probably imagined it._ It had been several years since Kyoya had really approved of imagination but he thought that today, perhaps, warranted an exception.

--

Sitting on the park bench, Kyoya was regretting his choice not to bring his laptop with him. Haruhi forbade it and in an effort to get her out of bed before noon, he agreed. The clacking of keys would drown out the conversation of the children sitting in the sand some twenty feet away. He had distinctly heard something about a bug and a punishment game.

"I told Hikaru and Nanako that we'd babysit today. And now we're babysitting. Stop fidgeting," she said quietly. He sighed.

"I don't trust him."

"I gathered that much, Ranka." He arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of his coffee but showed no other signs that being compared to Haruhi's father was insult enough to stem the flow of his complaints about Hikaru's son. He longed once more for the soft whir and clicking of plastic that meant he could lose himself once more in his work. Truth be told, focusing on his annoyance with the boy was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been floating around the edges of his brain lately. For what felt like the hundredth time that day and the millionth time in the last few months, a scene from a few months past began to play in his mind.

--

"I'm so glad we could finally get together," Aurélie said, resting her chin on her hand, her warm green eyes sparkling.

"Thank you for having us," Kaoru added, reaching for his wife's hand.

Haruhi hitched on a smile that was almost perfectly genuine. "We're glad to have you."

The evening had been pleasant, the conversation was pleasant, and catching up had been pleasant. Haruhi's cooking was a smash hit and to her knowledge, her daughter had been a perfect angel, playing dress-up with a nanny until bedtime. (Kyoya, however, had bribed her into compliance for the evening. A few cavities worth of melon soda later, she had agreed to go to bed without the usual fanfare and Haruhi was, very pleasantly, none the wiser.)

Kyoya had been quiet for most of the evening, letting his wife enjoy a much deserved night with other adults. He was glad that Kaoru, always more observant than his brother, was so distracted by his new bride – otherwise he might have noticed that Haruhi kept lapsing into silence. Kaoru ran his thumb absently over the ring on his wife's left hand. _Isn't being a newlywed great? _The question hung in the air unspoken as though their matching, dreamy smiles had asked it.

Kyoya knew his wife's plastered on smile answered the mute call of the question: _Yes, I suppose it is. I wouldn't really know._

"We'll have to have you over for tea sometime soon. And we'd love you to bring Saeka, too. I just love kids and from what I hear from her Uncle Hikaru, we're really missing out by not meeting her." Aurélie smiled warmly. Kaoru's smile faltered. Kyoya saved Haruhi from having to say anything.

"Do you have any plans for children in the future?" He tried for a pleasant smile and managed an odd sort of grimace. He masked his failure by taking a sip of his wine.

"If only," Aurélie smiled almost sadly and turned to face her husband. "Kaoru…you know wh-"

Kaoru choked. Aurélie smiled knowingly at Haruhi is if sharing in on some universal private joke. Kyoya sighed almost imperceptibly, patting his coughing friend on the back.

--

It was something he had been thinking about for a while. His friends and his business associates were perfectly polite, complimenting his lovely little family. Haruhi was disarming with her wit and involuntary charm, a welcome rarity in the social circles of trophy wives and trust fund babies. She had inadvertently carved herself a niche, accepting the duties of being an Otori without sacrificing her intelligence or goals. But it was his friends, moreso than the people who whispered behind discreet hands about Saeka that got him thinking. He had watched countless friends, from Ouran, college, and work go through the familiar process. They dated, they got married, they had children. Some courting, some cute stories, some meddling parents, some arranged marriages – the stories had some variation. But they all seemed to have the same core – the one that he and Haruhi lacked. And for all his complaints about Saeka spending time with the youngest Hitachiin, Kyoya didn't mind seeing the boy too much. Around Ryouta, he could take his observational skills down off the shelf and give them a stretch. He could see personality traits as well as physical features from each parent displayed in the little boy. And, as genotype codes for phenotype, the same was true of Saeka.

In the child he had helped to raise, he could see both of her parents as plain as day. She was dramatic, theatrical, and incredibly verbose for her age. Unlike her peers, she possessed a large and complicated vocabulary that no one attributed to an expensive pre-school. Giving up his intense study of the lid of his coffee cup, he looked up once more at the children on the playground. The sun was making her golden hair almost painful to look at but when she caught sight of him watching her game of tag, her big brown eyes lit up and she stopped to wave furiously – and forfeited the game accidentally.

Instinctively, his free hand found Haruhi's. She said nothing and linked her fingers with his, never taking her eyes off of their daughter.

A cold stab of guilt interrupted his thoughts. Or, rather, the thoughts he was beating into submission with the lead pipe of willpower. _I have got to be out of my mind._ But just as he was sure that he was a horrible person for thinking about it, another image danced in front of his mind. Another child, maybe with warm, brown eyes and jet black hair - or perhaps brown hair with gray eyes…

He tried to imagine bringing up the subject to her. He could see them that night, after dinner and baths and bedtimes, curling up on the couch to watch a movie or some mindless television. Maybe read a newspaper or a law book, sipping from teacups and sitting closer together than was strictly necessary.

"_Haruhi?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Let's make a baby."_

"_You're sleeping on the couch."_

_--_

With a start, he realized that she was tugging gently on his hand, trying to get him to stand. A glance at his watch told him almost two hours had passed and he tipped his proverbial hat to Haruhi; her innate knowledge of when snacks and naps were necessary dumbfounded him to this day.

He began to lead the procession back to the car, half-listening to Saeka's babbling and dimly aware that he still held the cold, unfinished coffee in his hand. He opened the door for Saeka and then her mother and bit back a sigh as he climbed once more into the driver's seat and stuck the key in the ignition. It was a silly idea. He knew it.

"Are you alright?" Her small, warm hand found his knee reassuringly. "You look odd."

"Never better," he answered, his voice quiet. He was awful at lying to her.

He couldn't decide what was worse – knowing that for the first time in his life, he couldn't have the thing he wanted most or knowing that polite society already thought he had it.

--

Hello there! I've never done author's notes before but I thought this chapter might need some.

I'll just start by saying that I hate OCs. With a passion. With the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. But in this chapter, there are OCs. There were some in one of the other chapters and only one reviewer mentioned them, which was a good sign because they're not the focus of the story. I don't subscribe to this "everyone in the host club is madly in love with Haruhi and whoever doesn't end up with her will surely become a monk and perish" idea. The OCs I have are just kind of the necessary ones because I assume that the other club members will get married and have lives after Ouran. So I googled popular names for Japanese girls (Hikaru's wife) and French girls (Kaoru's wife) and created my OCs. I googled popular Japanese boy names and made up a son for Hikaru. They just kind of exist to serve the plot when necessary and that's all. So, to the one reviewer who was curious about Ryouta, don't worry. The story is still Kyoya/Haruhi-centric.

I'm worried that this chapter is confusing and as I am sans a beta, I'll rely on you guys to keep my writing intelligible. I hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long! And, of course, thank you so much to anyone who has reviewed! It's been a long ass time since I just wrote something for fun and y'all make my day, seriously.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to hating my job with a passion, dreaming up elaborate ways to kill my cousins and make it look like an accident, and peeing a little every time I think about the 7th Harry Potter book.

_Ellos son la manzana de mis ojos, EthanHaas_


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